I’ve been accused of being too serious many times in my life, and multiple times in the last several weeks alone. This is disturbing to me because I find the world to be an absurd place. I’m always laughing at something. Sigh. Oops, I meant snigger. Why don’t people understand this?
In the tagged archive section on my old blog, humor rests at number three. With 37 posts, 18th C comes in first. Next is poetry, at 32. Third is humor, with 22 posts. Humor falls in line before accordions and even James Boswell (who, admittedly, probably landed in some of my humorous posts). I feel sort of like the autistic boy in the book I’m reading, who hands over his “Hi I have a disability” card when the world misunderstands him.
In keeping with my frantic tone right now, which inspires me to edit and write like a madwoman, I’ve decided to re-post at least one of my so-called jokes from my blog. You never know, it might come in handy to you. I know it’s worked for me. Begin Joke.**
The Rube Goldberg Method of Novel Writing:
The contraption starts with the harried author, who bangs her head against the wall, thereby knocking off the framed-inspirational-calligraphic scripture, which falls on a foot pedal, which kicks off a series of amplified notes that rattles weighted hanging objects, carefully placed to eventually fall onto the computer keyboard when the notes have hit their highest pitch. These weighted, swinging objects have been mathematically determined to fall at a certain rate and order, eventually spelling out this sentence: Justin is dead. However, because writers tend to be terrible at mathematical equations, the sentence is just as likely to come out this way: Ass did jute in.
Patent pending and all rights reserved. Now back to novel writing, unexpected endings, notwithstanding.
**End joke. I’m handing over my disability card now.